Within each of us is a forest, Wintry and ensconced in deep fog, It is replete with demons, Past events given terrible form, Haunting each day we open our eyes, Every emotional wound, Every failure, Every neurotic belief, Every chance you didn’t grip,
But a piece of our soul fights back, A demon hunter, Our internal dialogue of positivity, Leather-clad and under wide-brimmed hat, A spitting image of your self belief, Fighting blade and hammer, Stalking each incubus with stake in hand, Sparring with every horror that brings you down, Decapitating every insecurity and exposing their fatuity,
This slayer of monsters, Their war will never cease, To once again bring about your dawn, And sustain your smile, If only you’d believe in their cause.
Like our frames of flesh, Our souls can sustain dents and cracks, Harmed by barbed situations and jagged tongues, Our essence bleeds out of these wounds, Manifesting as turmoil and angst, Our internal peace shattered into fragments,
Like flesh they can be knitted anew, Our nirvana of vitality restored, But the tools are very much different, It is not the demesne of the mechanic to fix, The workshop lies in our own minds, Meditation and self-love are the utensils at hand,
It takes perseverance, Listening for the hurts of our spirits, Taking needle and blowtorch to each wound, Incense and peace and shadow work, It’s an ongoing inward pilgrimage, To get back to ourselves.
Hope, It’s said to shine, To glitter in luminescent butterflies, Shades of all prisms, It’s a currency we spend to continue our days, A penny a day keeps despair at bay,
Hope, It’s said to glimmer, A diamond in your minds eye, A beacon in the black, The light at the end of a morose tunnel, A reason to tread through another day,
Of course ofttimes it’s just a cheap bulb, A train at the end of that tunnel, Or perhaps it’s a marksman’s scope, A trick of the sun, Hope and optimism are manmade farces, Reality is rarely so idyllic.
We each have something we’re searching for, All of us, Across the seas and tectonics, Through the years, It is out there somewhere, A lost treasure, A jewelled cache of dreams, Hiding just out of reach,
Not an object, No relic or chalice, Not really, Nothing so droll,
But something grander, Peace or family or happiness, Your own hearth, Or perhaps recognition of your sweat, An immaterial nest egg, Something to be cherished, Not stuffed in a museum or vault, A true everlasting treasure,
How are you all week? I hope you’ve all been staying safe and staying creative! It’s been a reasonably nice week here, the temperature has dropped slightly to more a comfortable level. There was a very brief rainstorm that caused some flooding, but overall it’s been alright. Writing has been continuing at my usual pace and I like to think I’ve managed to give you all my usual vaguely coherent swill. I hope you’ve been enjoying it all the same. I’ve still been really enjoying reading your comments and appreciate all of you!
So, you know what time it is. It’s Wednesday Harley, what do you mean? Oh I mean it’s time for the Harlequins writing music! We all need music right? Well, let’s have some eh? Oh right, there was a theme for todays music. Did anybody see the “clue” for it on my social media earlier today? It was less of a clue and more of a blatant declaration of the theme, to be honest. So I’m just going to come out and say it: the theme for todays writing music is hope! Oh yes indeed! That one constant wish of humanity. Hope for the future, hope for their friends and family, hope for bad things not to happen. You can see just from that sentence how hope can inspire all kinds of music. Musicians can display hope in all manner of forms. Upbeat and energetic hope? Yep! Choral and uplifting hope? Yep! These all work, you know! I’m rambling a little bit here, aren’t I? Want to hear some music? I best shut up!
So, join me as delve into the musical minds of hopeful artists the world over!
And there we have it! Some pretty good and uplifting songs there no? There are so many hopeful tunes that I could have chosen, but I think these are a diverse enough array of positivity! I don’t think these particular artists are as obscure as some of the choices in my previous editions, but I still say you should check them out and show them some love. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed with any of them! Here’s hoping for a slightly more coherent post next week. Haha!
So, let’s have some social media stuff. You know, just for a change! The asylum has a page over on Facebook, an account on Instagram and an account over on Twitter. Follow me over on those for some random pictures and clues for my poems a few hours ahead of posting. If you enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page! Thanks for everything!
It’s a shiny new day, A seasons shift, Just the setting for a metamorphosis, An evolution, The birth of a new lifeform, My next adventure in aesthetics,
So I paint my hair a new blend, Scrub on a new face, Give my wardrobe some new marching orders, I am a new man, But it’s a farce, Life has not truly shifted,
New look, New me, But same problems, Same nightmare, There has been no true change, It is hollow,
The fickleness of spring gives way, The temperature rises, And with it comes the anticipation, Hope for this year, And the trees samba to a thankfully cool breeze, As we rejoice around the barbeque,
Sunbathing and sunburns, Beaches and azure waves, Picnics and chilled beverages, These temporary heavens, I adore them all, These hallmarks of a summer fulfilled.
I often wonder, As I gaze at more tears on television, Does life have a deus ex machina in the works? A god out of the machine, A plot twist in our lives, A magical transcendental moment, Perhaps an angel could lift a finger, Or the Devil himself take a day off,
It’d be a game changer, I wish someone would write that blissful passage, To switch on the machine, To rapidly change our fortunes, Call it convenient, Call it idealistic, But have we not suffered enough? Haven’t we crawled through enough ditches?
For our graft to bear fruit,
We throw ourselves wholly into our art,
We seek no reward,
That’s not the point,
We don’t want medals,
But perhaps a verbal salve to the heart,
We all want that pat on the back,
A show of hands from family and colleagues,
Acclaim and recognition,
Perhaps even grand fame,
To be acknowledged,
It’s only human nature,
But I say all of that be secondary,
The best accolades come from within,
The warmth of ones own creative furnace,
The feeling of a job well done,
It’s true that we are our own most vicious critic,
But we ought to be our most fervent devotee.
WorldofHarley 